wasn't a boat nor a barge nor even a plank on the river when the
searchlight flashed from the gray prowler; was there, Mike?"

"Not even a cork," said Mike.

"Well, anyway, that clears youse guys," grunted the leader. "Now you
better beat it."

Bidding Hanada good night, Johnny walked across the bridge, around four
blocks, then made a dash for his room. There was dust on his blankets,
but he could shake it off. Anyway, he probably would not sleep much that
night. Probably he would spend most of the night sitting by the window,
listening to the lap of the waters of the old river and trying to solve
the strange problem of the bullets fired apparently from the depths of
the stream.




CHAPTER XV

THE CAT CRY OF THE UNDERWORLD


Dodging in front of a street car, Johnny turned abruptly to the right
and trailed a taxi for half a block; then he shot across the sidewalk to
the end of a dark alley. Then he flattened himself against the wall and
listened. Yes, it came at last, the faint thud of cautious footsteps. He
had not thrown the man off the scent.